Kaleidoscope
by Harligh Quinn
Summary: Through out the different continuums one thing remains the same: Rogue is never quite in control. This is my take on a much more evil, more maniacal Rogue… One who is very much in control and wants to take over the world.


Kaleidoscope

**Title:** Kaleidoscope

**Author:** Ciitiiziin

**Summary:** Through out the different continuums one thing remains the same: Rogue is never quite in control. This is my take on a much more evil, more maniacal Rogue… One who is very much in control and wants to take over the world.

**Rating:** M/MA

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, BUT THE PLOT IS ALL MINES.**

**Notes:** Since I am anticipating getting at least one question in regards to why I created this particular piece I just thought I would give my reasoning now. For as long as I can remember I always felt that Rogue was the most intriguing X-men because she technically has the power to become anyone by stealing their psyches, emotions, thoughts, and memories. Most writers depict Rogue as someone who is constantly tormented by her past and her inner emotions so she never fully embraces her abilities. So I started thinking about the havoc Rogue could wreak if she did actually decide to embrace her powers and this is what I came up with. This is still a project in the works but I hope you enjoy it and please, please send any feedback you may have. Flames welcome.

So without any further ado….

**Ka****-****lei****-****do****-****scope**

_Definition_

**NOUN:**

1. A tube-shaped optical instrument that is rotated to produce a succession of symmetrical designs by means of mirrors reflecting the constantly changing patterns made by bits of colored glass at one end of the tube.

2. A constantly changing set of colors.

3. A series of changing phases or events: _a kaleidoscope of illusions. _

* * *

**Prologue: **

_Once Upon a Time in Caldecott_

* * *

Huddled in the corner of her parent's bedroom closet, she sat with her legs folded up against her chest; her hands covering her ears. She had run in there when she heard her father's truck pull up outside their trailer park home, because she knew better than she knew anything, to stay out of her father's way; especially after he had been drinking.

It wasn't something that she had to be taught – not twice at least- and she knew better than to hide the alcohol from her father, she still had the scar on her left cheek as a reminder. No, she knew more than any child should know about the effects of alcohol. Her only solace was the times when her father was out of the house at work, but when he came home her time was spent walking around on egg shells trying to predict what might set him off, and hopefully _fix it_ before he did.

This morning had been no different. She had accidentally left one of her skates on the porch last night when her mom had called her into dinner and this morning when father had left for work he nearly fell down the stairs trying not to trip over it. Had her father not already been late to work as it was she was sure she would have been seeing stars before she even got out of bed.

But ever since her father had left that morning she knew the storm clouds were brewing; and sure enough, that evening it had started pouring just before he stepped foot through the door.

It was a sort of warning she reckoned.

Outside, the flashing lightening and rumbling thunder was loud, but nowhere near the magnitude of the argument taking place inside the cramped kitchen.

"_Owen, please just calm down! ya know it was just an accident, ya know she didn't mean to leave her skates out." _

"_Ya saying ah'm being unreasonable? Ah almost broke ma back Trisha! That girl needs to be taught a lesson and ah mean to be the one ta give it ta her. Where is she at?_

"_Why don't ya just sit down an relax I'll get ya a nice col' beer you could sit in your favorite chair… Ah thank there's games on?"_

"_Damn it Trisia! Ah asked ya where' that good fo' nuthin' brat was…Ah ain't gonna ask ya again."_

"_ah don't know where she is, she ran off as soon as ya came in."_

"_Ya lying to me?"_

"_No! Sugah Ah swear."_

"_Ah don't believe you! You're lying to me. Ya trying to turn my own offspring against me!_

"_Owen Ah love ya… Ah would never do a thing lahk that."_

"_Why would she run away from me before ah even walk through the door… What lies you been putting in her head?"_

"_N-nothing. Ah swear. Ah didn't tell her …" _

Patricia's words trailed off as she released a shrill scream into the night as a loud smack was heard, followed by a crash as her father continued her mother's interrogation.

Try as she may she could not block out the sounds of her mothers cries.

"_Owen please… stop… yah' hurting me!"_

"_Shut up ya dumb cunt!"_

Closing her eyes, she clenched her hands tighter she over her ears and willed the world to just go away. All she heard is the continuous sound of her fathers fist connecting with what she knew was her mothers face. She cringed at the mental image, already feeling the rage building within.

He always tried to say he was sorry after he did something like this.

He always acted like it would never happen again, but it always did. And now her mother was getting beaten up because she was trying to protect her daughter…because she insisted on being a loyal wife.

She could recall once asking her mother why she stayed with Owen, when he did this to her. They had been in the tiny bathroom attending to her mother's bruises. Her mother's reply was:

"_Because that's what married people do."_

She remembers silently promising herself at that very moment, that she would never get married.

She was only eight at the time but knew better than most, what evils lay in the world. She could remember more days of pain and suffering than days spent carefree and that alone gave her the courage to do what she did next. Standing up she went over to her father's side of the bed and reached inside his nightstand. Finding the object she was looking for she slowly opened the door to the face the other end of the trailer.

From her location she could see her father standing above her battered mother's prone figure. He had his left hand twisted in her hair roughly pulling it, and right hand tightly curled around her neck, as her mother frantically clawed at the arm around her neck.

It was like an out of body experience, she could see herself creeping silently through the room. She could see the fear in her shaking mother's eyes the moment they locked in on her own. She could see herself raising her own right arm – trembling as she did, but she could not stop herself from pulling the trigger to her fathers 22 caliber.

A single shot rang out in the night.

Outside, the storm died down to an eerie silence, although lighting flashed in the distance. It was like a shifting in nature; the world moving slightly off, its axis.

It wasn't until his body pitched over and her mom yelped out with a strangled cry that she returned to her own body. Her mother sobbed out her father's name over and over again begging him to get up as the blood pooled at the back of his head where the single bullet had been lodged.

Breathing heavily and unable to move, she stoically looked on all the while still holding the gun.


End file.
